


Seal My Fate

by allyasavedtheday



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief References to Abuse, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Season/Series 02, Secret Relationship, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavedtheday/pseuds/allyasavedtheday
Summary: He spent months without Ian; he shouldn’t be reacting like this. Like some fucking junkie finally getting a hit after too long quitting cold turkey.“You workin’ today?” Mandy asks Ian as the train starts moving and Mickey forces himself to look out the window to make it seem like he’s ignoring them.“Yeah,” Ian says and he sounds disappointed. “Got the late shift today, gonna be there ‘til close.”Ian’s knee presses against his then and it takes everything in him not to jump. Instead he casts his gaze to the side and catches Ian glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Mickey inclines his head, subtle enough that he hopes Mandy won’t notice, and sees a flash of a smile light up Ian’s face.*A little look at what Ian and Mickey got up to during the summer of season two.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 123
Kudos: 428





	Seal My Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Okay here we go!!! So all the credit for this fic has to go to [xgoldendays ](https://xgoldendays.tumblr.com/post/190578344241/is-it-just-me-or-does-cruel-summer-by-taylor-swift) on tumblr and their anon who uttered the words "Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift" and "gallavich season 2 summer fic" so of course I _had_ to write it. This is fairly canon divergent because it simply Would Not have been possible for me to write an entire fic without them kissing (I'm sorry I'm not that strong lmao) so while everything is canon up to 2x02, things veer off in a different path after that! I'd like to say it's still canon compliant in terms of the general s2 plots but I didn't feel like rewatching once I realised ian and mickey are in like 5 scenes so the truth is I don't remember lol
> 
> There is one scene/section that references Terry's abuse of his kids but there's nothing too heavy, I don't think. (Nothing worse than what's happened on the show anyway) 
> 
> Changes in POV are noted by line breaks  
Title comes from Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift 
> 
> And other than that, enjoy <3

Mickey almost trips over his own feet when he sees Ian Gallagher waiting to pick him up from juvie with his sister. Fuck. He doesn’t know what he expected; if the dusty film on the pane of glass that used to separate them during visits didn’t make Ian look any uglier then the Chicago sun certainly wasn’t gonna do it. Because Ian looks _good_ and Mickey hates himself for being affected by it, for wanting to feel Ian’s hands on him, for wanting to hear Ian’s voice – deeper now – by his ear as he finally gives Mickey the relief he’s been fucking craving for months now.

He schools his expression before he can get close to them, calls out, “The hell’s he doin’ here?” and allows himself to be distracted by Mandy’s hug so he won’t react to Ian’s, “Hey Mick.”

They don’t hang around for long and Ian’s hand burns on Mickey’s shoulder as he tries to steer him in the opposite direction of the detention centre. Mickey shakes him off too quick but he can still feel Ian’s touch on him the entire walk to the L.

Mickey doesn’t say much as they make their way to the train, mostly listening in on Ian and Mandy’s conversation and offering the occasional sarcastic remark whenever either of them try to ask him a question about juvie. He’s gotta hand it to Ian, he’s pretty good at playing dumb.

Mickey thinks he’s seen Ian more than Mandy since he got locked up and he’d given up on not answering Ian’s incessant questions somewhere around visit number two but he still acts like he doesn’t know shit, asking Mickey questions he already found out the answer to a month ago.

The L’s blessedly quiet mid-morning and Mickey darts forward to sit down first so he doesn’t have to be the one to make a decision about seating arrangements and be forced to deal with Ian’s scrutinising look when he does.

Mandy collapses down opposite him, twisting to kick her feet up on the empty chair beside her and Mickey holds perfectly still as Ian drops into the seat next to him, resisting the urge to shudder when their bare arms press together for the briefest moment.

Fucking fuck.

He spent months without Ian; he shouldn’t be reacting like this. Like some fucking junkie finally getting a hit after too long quitting cold turkey.

“You workin’ today?” Mandy asks Ian as the train starts moving and Mickey forces himself to look out the window to make it seem like he’s ignoring them.

“Yeah,” Ian says and he sounds disappointed. “Got the late shift today, gonna be there ‘til close.”

Ian’s knee presses against his then and it takes everything in him not to jump. Instead he casts his gaze to the side and catches Ian glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Mickey inclines his head, subtle enough that he hopes Mandy won’t notice, and sees a flash of a smile light up Ian’s face.

Well, it looks like Mickey’s gonna suddenly need to make a stop at the Kash and Grab around 9pm tonight.

…God, he’s so fucked.

*

He waits around the back of the store for Ian, eyes moving shiftily for anything lurking in the shadows before he reminds himself it’s normal for friends to hang out with each other after work.

Except he and Ian aren’t friends.

He could probably lie and say they were though, if push came to shove.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because Ian slips out the back door not long later, grinning at Mickey and holding up a brown bag that Mickey hopes holds a six-pack. “Hey,” Ian says, sounding a little breathless as he turns back to lock the door behind him.

“Where’d you wanna go?” Mickey asks. Both their houses aren’t an option. Neither of them have a car either so that doesn’t leave many alternatives for privacy. There’s an abandoned building they went to once or twice before Mickey went away but this time of night it’s probably full of crackheads.

Ian swings his arms as they start walking and Mickey snatches the bag with the beer off him before he shakes it too much.

Ian huffs a laugh but doesn’t protest. Finally, he says, “The dugouts at school?” and Mickey thinks, _fuck, he knows me way too well_, before he quickly dispels the idea from his head.

Instead, he throws Ian a cocky grin and gestures Ian forward with his hand. “Lead the way, firecrotch.”

Ian rolls his eyes at the nickname but Mickey can tell he’s happy. He doesn’t know when he started being able to identify Ian’s moods and he’s not sure how he feels knowing that he can.

“So how are you really feeling about being out?” Ian asks when they’re about halfway there.

“What?” Mickey scoffs. “You want me to say I’m gonna miss it? Place was a fuckin’ shithole.”

“Guess that means you’re not gonna do anything to get put back in there any time soon?”

Ian’s needling at something, he can tell. He’s just not sure what it is yet. “You remember I was only in there to save your ass, right?” _And mine_, he thinks but doesn’t say.

Ian looks down at the ground, mouth a thin line and Mickey huffs, shoving his shoulder. “No, I ain’t planning on going back,” he says finally.

Ian nods at that and there’s a smile threatening to break out across his face but he holds it in, just about. Mickey’s grateful because a smiling Ian Gallagher always leaves him way too fucking defenceless.

“I’m glad,” Ian tells him, words hesitant like they used to be when he first started visiting Mickey a few months ago. “I kinda missed you when you weren’t around.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to let out a harsh, _well I didn’t miss you_, but he stops himself and he’s not sure why. It’d be a lie anyway – not that he’d ever admit the truth. Instead he rolls his eyes and shoves Ian again. “Stop fuckin’ around, man, we’re almost there.”

Ian laughs and Mickey can feel his eyes on him so he says the first thing that comes into his head. “What the fuck have you been up to since school ended anyway?”

It starts Ian off on a never-ending monologue on all the extra classes he’s taking for his WestPoint application and Mickey is glad to let him ramble for the rest of their walk. It’s easier to focus on than the too-fast thump of his heart in his chest.

* * *

Ian knows Mickey’s rules.

No sleepovers. No lingering touches. No fucking face to face. (Except the one time they’d tried it and Mickey had almost had a panic attack because it was _“too fuckin’ gay”_ – really, Ian thinks it was just too intimate for him.) Biting is okay but hickeys aren’t because people will see hickeys and hickeys are too much like kisses.

Because that’s the big one.

Absolutely no kissing. Under any circumstances.

Ian’s known it all from the beginning so he never bothers questioning him anymore. He figures he should probably get good at following rules if he’s gonna be in the army. Still, Ian knows his place. He knows when he can nudge at Mickey’s boundaries just a little bit – like when Mickey’s still half-dazed from the afterglow and Ian will let his hands drift softly over Mickey’s sides. Or when he bites at Mickey’s shoulder and smooths over the spot with his lips an instant later because Mickey doesn’t notice when he’s so distracted by what Ian’s hips are doing.

But he also knows when to leave well enough alone. For example, he hasn’t dared try to kiss Mickey since the very first time. Less for Mickey’s sake and more because he doesn’t actually think he could handle the rejection.

There’s just one problem though.

He really wants to fucking kiss him.

It’s only gotten worse since Mickey went to juvie. Because before they never talked all that long before they inevitably ended up ripping each other’s clothes off but once Mickey went away and there was always a pane of glass separating them they had no choice but to talk. And it turns out Ian really fucking likes Mickey. It’s not just that he finds him attractive or the sex is good or whatever, he actually fucking likes his personality.

Mickey’s funny and brash and surprisingly intelligent when he’s actually talking about something he gives a shit about. And Ian’s crush on him has only gotten more hopeless in the past few months. He wants more and he doesn’t trust himself anymore to slowly chip away at Mickey’s insecurities because one day he’ll push too hard and Mickey will slip through his fingers like a wisp of smoke. Gone without a trace.

So he’s proud of himself for how subtle he manages to be about suggesting Mickey work at the Kash and Grab, can’t believe his fucking luck when Mickey actually sounds interested and starts suggesting he could work as security.

Later, when they’re walking home they both slow to a natural stop at the point where their paths diverge and they have to head to their own streets.

Mickey looks sated with a shit-eating grin on his face and Ian wants nothing more than to reel him in and kiss the breath out of him. “Thank for the welcome home party, Gallagher,” he says, eyes glinting in the darkness as he gives Ian another once over.

Ian swallows hard to stop himself from suggesting they head straight back to the dugouts for another round. “S’good to have you back,” he says instead, rocking on his heels and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I’ll talk to Linda when I get into work tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” Mickey shrugs and this would usually be the point where the conversation would end and they’d separate but he seems to be lingering. His stare penetrates straight to Ian’s soul and just as Ian’s about to say something monumentally stupid Mickey finally seems to snap out of it.

He starts walking backwards, flashing Ian a grin and a soldier’s salute. “Night, army.”

Ian huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Night, Mick,” he says softly, only finally carrying on in his walk when Mickey’s rounded the corner and is out of sight.

He’s so fucked.

*

Lip is still up when Ian gets home, sitting on Ian’s bed to smoke out the window in their bedroom. “Hey,” he whispers when Ian slips inside. “Where were you?”

Ian shrugs as he toes off his shoes, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the floor. “Just hanging with Mandy.”

He can feels Lip’s eyes on him as he discards his t-shirt in the dirty laundry pile on the floor but he doesn’t question him further.

“You sure you’re still batting for the same team? You and Mandy seem pretty close now.”

Never mind.

Ian rolls his eyes, giving Lip a look as he climbs onto the bed and snatches the cigarette out of his hand. “Pretty sure I still only like dick.” And that was probably the wrong thing to say because Lip’s expression suddenly shifts like he’s realised something.

“You sure it’s Mandy you were with then?” he asks with a smirk. “You’re looking awfully flushed there, little brother.”

Feeling blood rush to his face and cursing his pale skin, Ian smacks Lip’s shoulder and passes him back the cigarette. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying,” Lip says, hands held up in surrender. “Maybe it was a different Milkovich? I hear another one you’re particularly fond of just got released from juvie.”

Ian considers denying it, considers telling Lip there’s nothing going on, but if he doesn’t talk about it with at least one person he’ll go insane. “Yeah, he’s back,” he admits sheepishly which seems to be all the answer Lip needs because he snorts and takes one last drag before stubbing the cigarette out on the windowsill and reaching over to ruffle Ian’s hair.

“You’ve got the weirdest taste in dudes, man.”

“Good thing you’re not the one fucking Mickey then,” Ian mutters, eyes quickly darting to Carl’s bed to make sure his younger brother is definitely still asleep. Carl is the last person who needs this kind of information.

Lip raises an eyebrow at him, tilting his head. “I don’t trust him, you know.”

Ian shrugs. “It’s not serious, Lip. I know what I’m doing.”

Lip nods but he looks like he doesn’t believe him. “Whatever you say, man. I’m going to bed.” He climbs off the bed, clapping Ian on the shoulder before turning to haul himself up onto the bunk bed. “Night.”

“Night,” Ian whispers, falling back on his bed and closing his eyes.

He _doesn’t_ think of Mickey.

* * *

Mickey has to hand it to Ian, it had been pretty fuckin’ slick of him to get Mickey the job at the Kash and Grab. Mickey hadn’t really let himself dwell on the idea too much until Ian had shown up at the dugouts with a utility shirt that said “Security” on the back and a stupidly big grin on his face. Now Mickey’s been working here a week and well, this might just be the best idea either of them has come up with since they started this little arrangement.

Not only do they manage to sneak into the back room at least twice a shift, it’s actually providing them with a cover story for hanging out. It’s still too early to tell but Mickey figures the longer he works here the less likely anyone is gonna be to question them if they catch Mickey with Ian. It _makes sense_ that they’d become friends or at least acquaintances if they’re spending pretty much all day every day alone together in the store.

So yeah, Mickey’s feeling pretty confident about this whole situation right about now.

Except for the part that he never considered.

He’s starting to like Ian.

And not just like, fucking around with Ian but he’s starting to like Ian _as a person_.

Much as he’d love to, they can’t actually just lock the door of the store and waste away the afternoon in the storeroom with their pants around their ankles. Which means in between “breaks” they spend a lot of time just talking. The store’s never crazy busy and Ian seems to find a way to keep up a conversation no matter what corner of the store he’s in or whatever kind of menial task he’s doing.

And the thing is Mickey had planned to cut the whole talking shit as soon as he’d gotten out of juvie. He figured it was a by-product of them not actually being able to touch each other and assumed now things would just go back to the way they were before. They’d fuck as many times as they could in the limited time they had together, make a plan for when they could see each other next, and then both be on their merry fucking way.

Now…Mickey finds himself with Ian more than his own family and the over-exposure is fucking with his head.

“Hey,” Ian says, snapping him out of his reverie and making Mickey look up from where he’d been absently flicking through a newspaper.

“You doing anything later?”

Mickey narrows his eyes, unsure what to expect. They’ve been at work for three hours and already slipped out the back twice – and Mickey’s been planning for a third for the past twenty minutes – he can’t imagine Ian would still want to see him when they finally clock off for the day. “Why?”

Ian gives a careless shrug of his shoulders. “Me and Mandy were gonna go see a movie.”

“You don’t think it’d be weird if I show up with you instead of my sister?” Mickey points out because Ian never seems to understand the logistics of their situation the way he does.

As if proving his point, Ian rolls his eyes and gives Mickey an exasperated look. “We’ll be coming from work. I can just say I told you our plans and you wanted to join. Mandy’s not gonna give a fuck anyway.”

It’s something Mickey’s told himself quietly before in his weakest moments. _Mandy won’t give a fuck, she won’t care, she loves you anyway_. He knows she knows Ian’s gay and it clearly hasn’t fucking discouraged her from hanging out with him considering the way she drapes herself all over him all the time. But he can’t stop the niggling thoughts in his head that tell him it’ll be different with him. That’s she’ll be angry or disgusted or-…or tell their dad.

Mickey shakes the thought away. Mandy’s always been his closest ally, if nothing else she’d never rat him out to their old man.

Swallowing down the urge to keep fighting, he huffs and turns the page of the newspaper with an irritated flick. “Fuck, fine.”

“You know you don’t actually have to come if you don’t want to?” He can feel Ian’s eyes on him but he refuses to look up, not until he’s got himself under control.

“I said I’d go, Gallagher, so shut the fuck up and get back to work.”

Ian doesn’t respond immediately but Mickey sees him stand up out of the corner of his eye and come out from behind the counter. Mickey tenses, not sure what to expect, when he hears the lock turn in the door. He looks up and finds Ian leaning against the door; there’s a quizzical look in his eyes but it’s his smirk that catches Mickey’s attention.

“I think we’ve earned a ten minute break,” he says casually, ambling towards Mickey. Mickey can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine as Ian’s hand grazes his side when he passes him on the way to the storeroom.

Mickey watches him go and swallows convulsively before letting a smile twist its way onto his face. “Fifteen!” he calls after him and Ian pauses at the door.

“Better hurry up then,” he says and fucking winks at Mickey before he disappears from sight.

Mickey shakes his head and hurries after him, relishing in the way Ian backs him up against the wall as soon as he steps into the backroom. Ian’s forehead presses hard against his own as he tugs at Mickey’s belt and Mickey lets out a shaky exhale, hands pulling Ian in until their hips connect.

The second Ian starts pushing his jeans down Mickey turns around and braces his arm on the wall. He tells himself it’s because he’s impatient and not because he’s afraid of how close Ian’s mouth is to his.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ian mumbles as his fingers slip underneath the waistband of Mickey’s underwear.

Mickey nods blindly, reaching a hand back to pull Ian even closer. “Come on.”

It’s really more like twenty minutes.

*

Just as Ian had predicted, Mandy doesn’t question his presence beyond her initial, “What’re you doing here?” when he and Ian first approach her outside the movie theatre. Ian says he told Mickey their plans and Mickey adds an uncaring, “Had fuck all better do to,” and that’s the end of it. Mandy shrugs in acceptance and links her arm with Ian before turning to Mickey and saying, “We’re not paying for you so get your own popcorn, asshole.”

“Hey, I got a real job now!” Mickey retorts, elbowing her in the ribs until she bats his arm away. “Get paid and everything.”

Mandy snorts. “Mickey Milkovich goes straight, who would’ve thought?”

“Not me,” Ian says, meeting Mickey’s eyes over Mandy’s head and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Mickey’s gonna fucking kill him.

“I’ve been out of juvie like, eight days,” he says to Mandy, pointedly ignoring Ian. “Gimme some credit.”

The conversation blessedly ends there because they reach the concession stand and Mickey pretends to look incredibly invested in whether or not he wants popcorn.

The theatre is half empty when they get inside; Mickey’s pretty sure this movie came out weeks ago but it’s not like any of them could’ve afforded to see it opening weekend – there’d also been the slight issue of Mickey being a little busy with being incarcerated and all. Mickey’s a little peeved they paid actual money and didn’t just sneak in – he’s really blowing a chunk of his first paycheck on this? – but when he realises Ian is the one following him into the aisle and not Mandy he figures there are worse things to spend his money on than sitting in a dark room for two hours with Ian Gallagher.

Ian talks to Mandy while the previews are on, the two of them already digging into the popcorn they bought together, and Mickey watches the screen, warring with himself until he subtly touches his knee against Ian’s.

Ian pauses mid-sentence the second they touch but carries on quickly a second later like nothing happened. Mickey smirks to himself.

Ian gets his own back as soon as the movie starts. With the lights down and him no longer talking to Mandy, he seems to decide to pay attention to Mickey instead of the movie. It’s unnoticeable in a lot of ways. Ian’s eyes are trained on the screen and, other than the points of their knees, they’re not touching but his hand disappears beneath the cup holder between them somewhere in the first ten minutes. His knuckles brush against Mickey’s thigh and Mickey clenches a hand around the armrest to stop himself from moving.

Ian can’t just blatantly grab his leg because, darkness or not, Mandy would definitely notice but their bodies provide just enough of a shield that his hand can slip over Mickey’s upper-thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

Mickey lasts about fifteen minutes before he ducks out to the bathroom. He’s in there five minutes before Ian follows him and backs him into the stall.

Like he said, there are worse things he could spend his money on.

* * *

Ian is watching Mickey.

He finds himself doing that a lot lately. They’re on the roof of the abandoned building that’s quickly becoming one of their secret haunts and Mickey is laying sprawled out on the concrete with his eyes closed. The sun’s beating down on him and Ian can see the way the slope of his nose is pinkening just slightly in the heat. God, he fucking wants to kiss him.

He would give everything to just lean down right now and brush his lips against Mickey’s. But Mickey would probably punch him in the face and throw him off the building before he’d accept kissing as part of his reality.

So Ian bites his lip and turns his face up towards the sun, leaning back on his hands.

“You sure all this sun is good for you, carrot-top?” Mickey asks, seemingly out of nowhere. His voice a lazy drawl. “If I open my eyes what are the chances your face is gonna match your hair?”

Ian huffs a laugh, a fierce kind of fondness blanketing his chest. “Like you can talk. You look like you fucking sleep in a coffin.”

Mickey laughs, short and sharp, and Ian can’t believe how fucking relaxed the other boy looks right now. What he’d give for Mickey to look like that all the time.

“Besides,” Ian finds himself saying. “I don’t burn that bad, usually just get a bunch of freckles.”

Mickey rolls his head to the side and cracks an eye open, using his hand to shield himself from the sun as his gaze travels over Ian’s face and down his torso – despite it being hidden beneath his t-shirt. He looks…he looks like he wants to map out every one of Ian’s new freckles with his tongue and Ian’s hands curl into fists against the concrete.

Fuck, he wishes Mickey wouldn’t look at him like that.

It’s a hell of lot easier to convince himself they shouldn’t kiss when Mickey’s not looking at him like he wants to. He’s not even sure Mickey realises when he makes a face like that, it’s like his thoughts run away from him before he registers where they’ve lead him. Ian knows because he always notices the moment Mickey redirects himself, the way his expression will shutter for a beat before slipping back into something normal.

Now, Ian stares back at him, feeling himself burn under Mickey’s gaze when their eyes lock.

It’s too hot to have sex. They’d tried earlier and been so overheated within sixty seconds they’d had to give up. But fuck, Ian wants to crawl over him right now, wants to kiss a trail from Mickey’s hairline to his thighs. He almost thinks Mickey would let him, mind too fuzzy from the heat to work himself up about all the ways this could be a bad idea.

“Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey says finally, voice thick with something. “You gonna get over here or are you just gonna keep staring?”

Ian swallows around the dryness in his throat. “We’re gonna get fucking heatstroke.”

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You wanna go fight in fuckin’ desert warzones, right? You should get used to doing strenuous activity in the heat.”

Ian shakes his head, biting back a grin. Mickey doesn’t offer much in the way of words but whenever he makes it blatant how much he wants him Ian feels like his heart might beat straight out of his chest.

So he does as he’s asked, crawling over Mickey and caging him in with his hands. He can tell the exact moment Mickey seems to realise his mistake because he stares at Ian’s mouth for a beat too long before promptly averting his gaze off to the side. Ian suppresses an eyeroll and dips down, sliding down Mickey’s body until he’s eyelevel with the waistband of Mickey’s shorts.

Mickey releases a breath that sounds distinctly relieved as his hands travel into Ian’s hair. Ian pushes his t-shirt up, nose nudging at the strip of skin it’s exposed. Mickey’s stomach quivers beneath him and Ian’s aching to drag his mouth across the skin but he stops himself, focusing on dragging Mickey’s shorts down his hips instead.

“Gallagher,” Mickey murmurs, breathless, and that’s all the encouragement Ian needs before he’s taking Mickey into his mouth and swallowing him down.

Mickey’s fingers twist in his hair and Ian spends the next ten minutes drawing out every single tiny sound and shaky breath he can get out of him.

It’s worth it if only for the way Mickey lets Ian bite down on the base of his neck when he shoves his own hand inside Ian’s boxers a few minutes later.

*

It’s the 4th of July and Ian knows he’s going to be spending it with his family, Kev and V. And he’s happy about that, he is. He loves his family and he loves celebrating with his family – he just wishes someone else could be there too. He could probably get away with inviting Mandy but Mickey is definitely a lost cause. Even if by some miracle he could convince Mickey to come over he knows his family’s questions would send Mickey running in seconds. No, even if all the adults are gonna be half-plastered by sundown it’s still too much of a risk.

So Ian doesn’t complain and dutifully helps Kev and Lip with the barbecue, keeping an eye on the kids while Fiona and V make the salad – which is really code for drinking wine coolers – in the kitchen.

The evening passes in the same rowdy fashion most Gallagher events do and after a few beers Ian feels pleasantly loose-limbed and relaxed as he leans back in his lawn chair to watch the fireworks. Carl is chasing Debbie with a sparkler around the grass while Fiona rocks Liam in her arms as he stares in wonder up at the sky. Lip is beside him smoking and locked in a conversation with Kev and V but Ian is content to sit back and observe them all, listening to the buzz of conversation over the explosions in the sky.

Eventually his mind drifts, as it always does, to a familiar pair of eyes and he wonders how the Milkoviches are celebrating the 4th of July. _With guns, probably_, he thinks as Terry Milkovich’s scowling face floats into his head.

Before he can think better of it, he takes out his phone and shoots off a text to Mandy.

_How’s the celebrating going?_

Mandy’s answer is almost instant.

_As expected. Iggy almost blew himself up trying to light a firework_

_He okay?_

_Yeah, Mickey put the thing out before it actually exploded_

Ian’s stomach flutters at the sight of Mickey’s name and he’s itching to ask Mandy about him but he knows he can’t. He knows there’s nothing he can say that wouldn’t sound weird. So instead he finds a different Milkovich’s number in his phone and starts typing.

_Dugouts?_

He doesn’t even have a chance to lock his phone before the reply comes.

_Aren’t you supposed to be at a Gallagher cookout?_

_I’m bored_, Ian replies, cradling his phone close to his chest in case anyone can see.

_Be there in 15_, Mickey texts back after two agonising minutes and Ian suppresses a smile, forcing himself to sit still and not immediately jump out of his seat.

He decides to tell Lip where he’s going, mostly so he’ll cover for him. “Hey,” he says, bumping Lip’s arm with his elbow to catch his attention. “I’m going to hang out with Mandy for a while.”

Lip gives him a knowing look and nods, a stupid fucking smirk working its way onto his face as he says, “Want me to wait up?”

Ian just smirks back and hops up from his seat. “Nope,” he says, alcohol making him brave and way too fucking smug.

Lip shakes his head but waves him off with a semi-sincere, “Have fun!”

Ian swipes a couple of beers from the cooler and makes his way around the front of the house, sending Mickey one final text.

_On my way_.

*

Mickey’s waiting for him by the gate when Ian arrives and Ian has to physically stop himself from reaching out for him. It doesn’t matter anyway because as soon as he’s close enough Mickey hooks his fingers in Ian’s t-shirt and drags him out onto the field. Ian attaches himself to Mickey’s back as they make their way across the field to the dugouts, lips dangerously close to the spot behind Mickey’s ear.

“Put the beer down,” Mickey mutters as soon as they’re hidden behind the comfort of the fence, twisting in Ian’s arms so they’re facing each other. Ian has just enough presence of mind to drop the beers on the bench before he’s walking Mickey backwards towards the chain-link fence.

Mickey wets his lips, staring at Ian’s mouth before he looks up to meet his eyes. Ian suppresses a shiver and resists the urge to lean in, letting his nose nudge Mickey’s and telling himself it’s enough. “What d’you want?” he asks, voice hoarse with need and silently begging Mickey to _just say it._

_Kiss me_, he thinks desperately.

Mickey lets out a harsh breath, finally seeming to come back to himself and meets Ian’s eyes. “Fuck me.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s turning around so his back’s to Ian.

Ian forces down the cry of frustration and gets to work on undoing Mickey’s pants. It’s easy to forget about it when Mickey’s clutching his hand where it’s clenched in the fence, begging Ian to come closer.

Later, they’re sitting in the dry, compacted dirt against the fence passing back and forth a beer. Ian doesn’t know why they didn’t just take one each rather than sharing the same bottle but this is their second one so he’s not gonna complain.

They’re not talking about much, pointless shit that doesn’t even matter – minds too hazy from the alcohol and the heat and each other. Mickey’s in the middle of telling him about Iggy’s antics from today when he takes another pull of the beer and there’s a little bit left on his lip, just at the corner of his mouth.

Ian’s eyes fixate on it immediately.

Mickey doesn’t notice and Ian doesn’t know what makes him do it – desperation or sheer fucking stupidity – but before he can stop himself he’s darting forward and pressing his lips to the corner of Mickey’s mouth, connecting with his cheek more than anything else.

He pulls back instantly, terrified and bracing himself for Mickey’s onslaught but Mickey’s just staring at him, eyes wide. “The fuck…?” he says, sounding too dazed to really get the words out.

“You had beer on your lip,” Ian says, heart hammering in his chest.

It seems to be enough to shake Mickey back to himself and his eyes narrow. “You couldn’t have fuckin’ _said_ that instead of-“

He cuts off and Ian knows neither of them is going to dare say the words out loud tonight.

“You were hogging the beer,” Ian says lamely, snatching the bottle out of Mickey’s limp hand as if to prove his point.

Mickey watches him drink and Ian can feel Mickey’s eyes on his throat as he swallows. When he puts the bottle back down on the ground he waits. For a punch to the face, for Mickey to storm off, he doesn’t know what. But it never comes. Mickey eyes him for another minute more and looks away with a strangled puff of laughter, reaching for the beer.

“What the fuck ever, man.”

And just like that, the conversation is over.

Ian releases a quiet breath of relief even though part of him feels frustrated too. Even if Mickey got angry at least that’d mean he’d have to acknowledge it. But then- maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe the fact that Mickey let him get away with it means something. Maybe it means he won’t say no when Ian’s finally brave enough to ask again.

Fireworks explode above them, breaking the tense silence between them, and Ian looks up. He looks at the sky and then he looks at Mickey and the corner of his mouth twitches in a smile.

He figures it’s a pretty good representation for what the fuck is happening in his chest right now.

* * *

Mickey lies in bed, eyes fixed on the wall and willing himself to fall asleep as one thought circles round and round in his head.

He needs to fucking end this thing with Ian.

He’s losing control of the situation now. He doesn’t know how to stop it. Because- because Ian practically kissed him the other night and Mickey had been more angry that he didn’t kiss him properly than that he tried to kiss him at all.

He can’t- he can’t be around Ian anymore because he likes it too much. He likes Ian’s voice and listening to him talk. He likes hanging out with him just doing normal shit. He fucking loves the sex. He likes his face and his hair and his hands and his fucking everything and he needs to _stop_.

Because every time Ian gets close Mickey feels like pulling him in, feels like dragging their mouths together and he can’t do that. If they kiss this whole charade will cave in on itself. The tenuous proof Mickey clings to that says they’re nothing more than fuck buddies will disappear. And then where will Mickey be?

Probably dead in a fucking ditch somewhere once his dad figures it out.

Dragging his hands over his face, Mickey rolls over and buries his face in his pillow and doesn’t fucking dream of Ian Gallagher.

*

Mickey intends on telling Ian things need to end. He really fucking does.

He doesn’t talk to him for a whole thirty-six hours and he thinks that’s progress. Of course, all of that goes to hell when Ian comes over to his house to watch a movie with Mandy. Mickey stays holed up in his room as soon as Mandy announces their plans, too afraid to see Ian’s face and knowing it’ll break his resolve.

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling when his door opens. His head snaps up immediately even though he knows who it is. Ian must’ve told Mandy he needed to go to the bathroom. His eyes land on Mickey for the briefest moment and his expression softens, making Mickey’s stomach twist. But then he actually starts heading to the bathroom and what the fuck?

Mickey’s up and off the bed before he can stop himself, grabbing Ian’s arm and cornering him against the doorframe. “Hey,” he says, voice low and too full of something he’s afraid Ian will recognise as need.

Ian meets his eyes and his gaze sets Mickey’s insides alight. “Hey,” he murmurs.

Acting braver than he feels, Mickey lets his hands reach out, twisting in the fabric at the back of Ian’s shirt to pull him closer.

“Mandy’ll be wondering where I am,” Ian mutters even as his hands come up to squeeze Mickey’s sides.

“Tell her you got a fucking stomach bug, I don’t care,” Mickey says and they’re so close he can feel Ian’s breath on his face. It makes anticipation swell in his gut, panic surprisingly absent.

But at the last second, Ian takes a step back from him, an odd quirk to his mouth. “I should get back out. Come join us if you want.”

With that, he’s moving away from Mickey and back out to the living room. Mickey stares after him, dumbfounded. What the fuck just happened?

He lasts approximately sixty seconds before he follows him out, throwing himself down into the empty space beside Ian and making his movements careless so it looks like an accident when his leg ends up slightly overlapping with Ian’s.

Ian’s chin tilts just slightly at the contact but he doesn’t react otherwise.

“We’re watching _Saw_,” Mandy tells him and Mickey grunts in acknowledgement and that’s the end of the conversation.

Mickey spends the next half an hour subtly shifting his gaze between Ian and Mandy. Ian because when does he not want to look at Ian? And Mandy because if there’s one thing Mickey can rely on it’s that Mandy’s fucking hardwired to fall asleep halfway into a movie if they’re watching it at home.

Sure enough, when there’s about forty-five minutes left Mickey looks over and finds his sister passed out on the other end of the couch. His brothers are out on a run with his dad. They’ll probably go to the Alibi to celebrate when they’re done. They won’t be home for hours. They have time.

As soon as Mickey’s sure Mandy’s one hundred percent dead to the world he grabs Ian’s hand and hauls him up off the couch. “Come on,” he says, dragging Ian back into his bedroom.

He doesn’t close the door behind them so much as Ian pushes him up against it, closing the door in the process.

Mickey lets out a quiet, “Fuck,” and latches onto Ian’s sides, tugging him closer until they’re toe to toe. Ian takes another step forward anyway even though there’s no more space between them and when their lips bump Mickey’s feels his brain short-circuit. It’s not a kiss. It’s nowhere near a kiss but they touched and Mickey feels like his fucking knees are about to give out.

Ian doesn’t try to lean in though, instead he buries his face in Mickey’s neck, his breath fanning out over Mickey’s pulse point. “What about just here?” Ian whispers then, a quiet plea. For something more, for something Mickey’s never given him before. “It doesn’t have to count.”

Mickey shudders and he can’t fucking think straight with Ian this close. He lets one of his hands fly out to twist the lock in the door and then brings it up to clutch the back of Ian’s head. “Just do something,” he breathes.

That seems to be all the invitation Ian needs before his lips are brushing over Mickey’s neck, soft at first before becoming more insistent. Mickey lets out an involuntary sound before clamping his mouth shut and biting his lip, grinding his hips up against Ian’s.

Ian just crowds him closer, mouth trailing the length of his neck before latching onto the spot where Mickey’s neck meets his shoulder.

Mickey sucks in a breath. “No-“

“No marks, I know,” Ian mumbles softly, pressing a delicate kiss to Mickey’s throat like a punctuation mark.

And Mickey can’t handle this, whatever thread of self-control he possessed is completely gone. And he needs to be fucking careful because he can’t lose his head right now. Not when they’re in his house, not when Mandy’s in the next fucking room. But he also can’t let Ian stop, doesn’t want Ian to stop, wants him to keep going until his mouth has touched every inch of Mickey’s skin.

Ian seems pretty fucking okay with that idea too considering the way his hips grind against Mickey’s, like just this would be enough to get him off. Mickey’s stomach clenches at the thought and he rakes his hand over Ian’s head, silently cursing him for deciding to get a fucking buzzcut while Mickey was away. Mickey is itching to tug on his hair but he’ll just have to content himself with clutching at the nape of Ian’s neck for now.

He’s not sure which one of them moves then but they seem to reach for each other’s pants at the same time and then all Mickey can feel his hardness and heat and teeth and _Ian_.

*

It’s like the day in Mickey’s room opens a floodgate.

Every time they back into the storeroom at the Kash and Grab Ian’s mouth is on him before his hands. He doesn’t kiss Mickey anywhere beside his neck and his shoulders, still flimsily keeping his promise. It’s like as soon as one of them utters a half-hearted, “It doesn’t count,” then Mickey can keep on pretending, can convince himself that this doesn’t mean more, can convince himself that he doesn’t need Ian’s mouth anywhere else.

If there’s one benefit it’s that they’re probably talking less now but that’s only because they’re finding it even harder to keep their hands off each other than before.

They need to start planning this shit though because Linda’s gonna have both their asses if people start complaining about them locking up the store in the middle of the day. And Mickey really doesn’t know how they’re supposed to explain that one.

It takes nearly a week before Ian seems to finally see sense again, unlocking the door to the store fifteen seconds after he’d locked it in the first place. “We need to stop fucking closing the door before Linda reinstalls the security cameras. She’ll kill us if she catches us.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water over Mickey’s head. Now that Ian’s acknowledging it too, the panic wins out over the lust in his head and he nods. “Yeah, we should stop,” he agrees, throat feeling tight. “Ain’t you supposed to restock those shelves anyway?”

Ian laughs at him but does what Mickey says and Mickey’s glad to be out of his orbit for a breath, at least until he can get himself back under control. But because he can’t fucking help himself he says, “You wanna go to the place after work?”

Ian pauses in organising the shelf and gives him a look full of promise. Giving a small incline of his head, he bites back a smile and says, “Sounds good.”

Mickey counts down the minutes until they can clock off.

* * *

Ian is on the couch with his whole family, squashed between Carl and Debbie and wondering how the fuck he can text Mickey without anyone noticing. He can’t, is the answer. His phone buzzed in his pocket ten minutes ago and considering the only people who text him are Lip, Mandy or Mickey _and_ considering Lip is here with him he’s got a fifty-fifty chance of this text being something no one else should see.

So he holds back a sigh and settles into the couch, letting Debbie fall asleep against him and telling himself he’ll sneak off for a bathroom break when everyone else is sufficiently distracted.

Lip seems to have the same idea.

Ian spies him on his own phone where he takes up the entire armchair to himself, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. As soon as he replies to whoever he’s texting he gets up. “Hey, I gotta bail,” he says apologetically.

“Where’re you going?” Fiona asks, eyes going to the clock above the mantel. It’s late but still not late enough for her to pull the mom card.

“Uh, Karen’s,” Lip says, hesitating just a second too long. Ian’s the only one who seems to notice. Lip meets his eyes and shakes his head, silent code for _I’ll tell you later_. Ian nods after a moment and lets him go.

Ian tries to focus back on the TV then but his phone is burning a hole in his pocket. The need to see whether it’s Mandy or Mickey is too much. He makes it through the rest of the episode of _Deadliest Catch_ before he gives in, slowly slipping out from underneath Debbie and easing himself off the couch. Fiona looks up in question but Ian just nods towards the bathroom and she lets him be.

Ian lets out a sigh of relief as he makes his way to the downstairs bathroom, making sure the door is shut behind him before he retrieves his phone. It’s Mickey. Just two words.

_Dugouts? Now._

Ian frowns down at his phone, an odd sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. He sent the text forty minutes ago. Shit, Mickey’s gonna be pissed.

_Sorry!_ Ian texts back quickly. _Family night, couldn’t text back. On my way _

He leaves the bathroom and ducks his head into the living room just long enough to announce he’s heading to bed, ignoring his siblings’ protests as he hurries up the stairs and promptly climbs out his bedroom window. Scaling the side of his house is slightly less of a nerve-wrecking experience ever since his growth spurt; it’s a lot easier to reach the roof of the porch from his window now.

He still doesn’t make it further than his front yard though.

As soon as he reaches the gate he sees a figure storming up the street. One of the flickering street lamps illuminates him long enough for Ian to realise it’s Mickey and an apology is on the tip of his tongue but he freezes, words forgotten, once he gets a look at him up close.

“Mickey, what-“

“What took you so long?” Mickey snaps, striding straight up to him until he almost barrels straight through Ian. He stops though, as soon as Ian puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened to your face?” Ian asks quietly, free hand reaching up involuntarily to curve around the beginnings of a bruise blooming across Mickey’s left eye and cheek bone.

Mickey turns his face out of Ian’s touch but doesn’t shake him off entirely. “My dad,” he says finally, avoiding Ian’s gaze.

Ian’s insides lock at the revelation but concern for Mickey wins out over anger at Terry. “You’re not gonna come inside, are you?” he asks, already knowing the answer and feeling completely unsurprised when Mickey gives him a look of utter disbelief.

Ian sighs but tries not to let the frustration show on his face. “Do you need ice?”

Mickey shifts his feet on the ground, looking uncomfortable under his attention,. “Nah, man. Just didn’t wanna stick around the house, y’know?”

Ian nods. He gets that. Frank’s only ever gotten violent on a couple of occasions and he’s usually too trashed to tell his fist from his ass so he never gets far before someone carts him out on the porch. Still, Ian’s never really liked hanging around him in moments like that. “Okay, come on.” He uses the hand still on Mickey’s shoulder to guide him along, relieved when Mickey doesn’t fight.

They round the house to the backyard where the van sits, unused and shitty-looking as ever. “No one looks in here. Frank’s the only one that even uses it when we don’t let him in the house but he’s been staying at Sheila’s recently. Or Dottie’s,” he adds after a beat. “Or I don’t know who the fuck he’s scamming right now but he hasn’t been around.”

Mickey nods absently as Ian opens the back door. The thought of Frank sleeping in here makes his nose wrinkle so he makes the executive decision to sneak back inside and grab another blanket. “Wait here,” he requests quietly, waiting for Mickey’s nod of agreement before he trudges back to the house.

He’s pretty proud of himself for how deftly he manages to sneak back in, grab his blanket, and return to the backyard without anyone so much as glancing up the stairs.

He returns to the van to find Mickey still leaning against the open door. Ian shoots him a brief smile before climbing in to spread the blanket out across the van floor over the other jumble of sheets and old towels left in there. When he’s finished Mickey climbs in unprompted, moving to lie on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He lets out a breath and Ian watches the way his eyes close as he lies down next to him.

“Why’d he hit you?” he asks quietly once he’s settled, half-afraid of the answer.

Mickey scoffs and it’s a horrible, scornful sound. “He doesn’t need a fuckin’ reason.” He pauses then, turning his head to the side to meet Ian’s gaze. “Do you get now why I don’t wanna give him one?”

Ian flinches but he nods. If Terry’s gonna hit him like that just because he felt like it, Ian doesn’t want to imagine what he’d do if he found out Mickey is gay. Fierce protectiveness swells inside him but he pushes it down, carefully rolling onto his side to face Mickey. After a beat when Mickey doesn’t say anything, Ian reaches out a tentative hand, trailing his fingers lightly over the side of Mickey’s face. “Stay here tonight,” he murmurs softly.

Mickey cranes his neck to meet his eyes again and they’re filled with…_something_. Ian’s not sure what it is yet. All he knows is Mickey looks exhausted and vulnerable and Ian wants nothing more than to gather him up in his arms and hold him until the sun rises.

“I’ll put an alarm on my phone so you can sneak out before anyone else wakes up.”

Finally, Mickey nods again. Ian has the overwhelming thought that he might not trust his own voice right now.

Making a split second decision and steeling himself for a push-back, he reaches up and over, brushing his lips carefully over the point of Mickey’s cheekbone. He returns to his original position almost immediately, feeling Mickey’s eyes on him the whole time.

“Ian,” Mickey says quietly, tiredly.

Ian wets his lips, heart in his mouth. “It’s supposed to make it feel better.”

Inexplicably, that doesn’t make Mickey angry. Instead he almost looks like he wants to laugh, puffing out a breath and shaking his head. “What?” he asks then, no doubt finally noticing the beaming smile on Ian’s face.

“You called me Ian,” Ian tells him, feeling slightly giddy. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Mickey use his first name before.

Mickey’s eyes flicker and if Ian didn’t know better he’d almost think he’s feeling bashful but then he shoves Ian – lightly, too light – and says, “Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

“Okay,” Ian says, tamping down on his grin and reaching into his pocket for his phone to turn on the alarm for the morning. He sets it above their heads before settling his hand under his cheek. He knows he should stop watching Mickey but he can’t help himself. For once, Mickey doesn’t seem to mind, just closes his eyes and starts to fall asleep under Ian’s watchful gaze.

Ian notices when his muscles go lax and all his features smooth out and he allows himself, just for a minute, to imagine what it’d be like if they could do this every night. What it’d be like if they could actually share a bed, without fear or worry, just content to know they could wake up in one another’s arms.

For now he just mollifies himself with letting the very tip of his pinky finger touch Mickey’s forearm and closes his eyes.

It’s barely a point of contact but it’s enough.

* * *

Mickey wakes up to the feeling of someone touching his arm and lashes out before he can even open his eyes. The other person grabs his forearm, uttering a quiet but insistent, “Mick, it’s just me.”

Mickey recognises that voice. And suddenly last night comes rushing back to him. Terry’s fist connecting with his face. The desperate need to leave the house and the even worse desire to see Ian. Waiting at the dugouts and getting no response. Swallowing his pride and feeling more than a little frayed at the edges as he forced himself to Ian’s house. Ian coaxing him into the van and giving him somewhere to hide. Ian kissing his cheek….

Fuck.

Mickey relaxes his tense position and opens his eyes just in time to see Ian pull his hand back.

“It’s 5:30,” Ian tells him lowly and Mickey sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before he remembers his eye. He flinches as a throbbing pain wracks through his face and wills the burning behind his eyes to go away.

“I’ll get you something for your eye,” Ian says then, paying too much attention like he always does. He leaves no room for argument as he clambers out of the van.

Mickey lets him go, closing his eyes. Fucking hell, he’s in way too deep. But he doesn’t know how to get back out now, feels bereft without Ian here. Christ, he needs to stop this. Before it gets worse.

Ian comes back not long after and offers him a packet of frozen peas and two tiny pills that Mickey assumes are Advil or some shit. He presses the peas against his face immediately, letting out a breath of relief before holding out a hand for the pills. He swallows them dry, refusing to meet Ian’s eyes where he can feel him watching him.

Neither of them say anything for a moment.

And then: “You wanna go for breakfast?”

Mickey stares at Ian’s oddly earnest face and, ridiculously, he feels like laughing. “Yeah,” he says, shaking his head in amusement. “Let’s get some fucking breakfast.”

*

They make their way to a diner downtown and Mickey is suddenly glad for their early start to the morning. Because the place is almost empty save for one or two patrons nursing their coffees and he just feels- relief. Knowing he can sit with Ian without the knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach about who might be paying attention.

They sit in a booth in the corner, blocked from the view of the door – though Mickey can’t help looking over every few minutes just in case.

“Do you think your dad will still be mad when you get home?” Ian asks, casting a furtive look at Mickey’s cheek.

Mickey shrugs, absently picking at his napkin. “Who the fuck knows? If I’m lucky he drank himself into a stupor last night and he’ll still be passed out when I get back.”

Ian nods, eyes downcast, and Mickey doesn’t want to say what he’s thinking but he has to.

“Listen…we need cool it a little. I can’t- I need to be more careful,” he says, the desperate tinge to his words audible to his own ears. “If my dad finds out-“

“I get it,” Ian says, voice soothing and soft and too much for Mickey. “We can cool it.”

Mickey lets out a sigh of relief, slumping back in his chair. But when he notices the disappointed look on Ian’s face and the hunch to his shoulders he can’t help adding, “It’s not that- it’s not because I want to stop-“

“Mick,” Ian says, mouth curving up in a rueful smile. His hands twitch on the tabletop like he wants to reach out but he doesn’t. Instead he traps Mickey’s foot between his own under the table. “I get it.”

Mickey nods, too surprised to come up with a response. The waitress offers him a reprieve then when she arrives a moment later with their food. They’re quiet while they eat but Mickey thinks it’s a nice quiet. Like maybe there’s nothing they really need to say, like maybe just being around Ian is enough to make him feel comfortable.

He already regrets what he said.

He knows it’s right though, knows he’s been getting too careless recently. Even last night was a monumentally stupid fucking move. He could probably get away with acting like Ian’s his friend now but he still doesn’t want to tempt fate, still doesn’t want to give his dad any reason to second-guess him.

They leave the diner before the breakfast rush starts, walking back in the direction of both their houses until they reach their normal goodbye spot. Mickey idles on the corner not sure what to say after everything that’s transpired between them in the past twelve hours. Eventually he clears his throat and stutters out an awkward, “Thanks, um, for the ice and all. And uh, letting me crash for the night.”

Ian almost looks endeared when Mickey catches the smile at the corners of his mouth. “No problem.”

Mickey meets his gaze and gets the distinct feeling that Ian’s reading him like a fucking book.

“See you at work later?” Ian offers and Mickey nods weakly.

Jesus christ, he needs to go home.

“Later, firecrotch,” he calls, glad his voice finally sounds normal.

He turns away after Ian offers him a quiet, “Later,” and makes hastily in the direction of his street.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

*

When he gets home the house is silent but it doesn’t do much to put him at ease. If anything, it makes him more nervous. He creeps towards the half-open door to his dad’s bedroom and releases a quiet breath of relief when he sees his dad sprawled out on his stomach fast asleep. He makes his way to Mandy’s room next, knocking softly before opening the door. She’s sitting on her bed flicking through a magazine but she offers him a small smile when she sees him.

He slips inside, closing the door behind him before moving to sit at the foot of her bed. “Sorry I bailed last night,” he says, wishing he’d at least fucking text her to make sure she was alright. “Did he get any worse?”

Mandy gives him a careless shrug, nudging him with her foot. “It’s cool, I crashed with a friend. Besides, you were the one who needed to get out of here. He wasn’t paying any attention to me.”

Mickey accepts that with a nod, not sure what else to say now he’s gotten his apology out of the way. They don’t really do sincere conversations unless shit goes down.

“Where’d you go anyway?” Mandy asks him then and that pulls Mickey up short. Ian’s name is on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it down.

“Hung out at a bar for a while,” he lies. “Bumped into Sandy so crashed at her place for a few hours.”

It’s probably dangerous bringing his cousin into this but if he can trust anyone in his entire fucking family besides Mandy then it’s her. She’ll cover for him and she won’t ask why.

At the very least Mandy doesn’t look suspicious so he figures he’s probably safe. He stretches out across the end of the bed then, on his back with his legs hanging off the side, and closes his eyes. Fuck, he’s so tired. “What d’you think he’s gonna be like today?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Mandy scoffs. “Don’t be surprised if I come to hang out with you and Ian at the store later on.”

Mickey huffs a laugh. “I’m sure Ian would be thrilled.”

When Mandy doesn’t reply Mickey cracks an eye open. She’s watching him with a curious quirk to her mouth and it makes Mickey frown. “What?”

“You called him Ian,” Mandy says and Mickey feels like a lead weight has been dropped on his stomach.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why does he keep slipping up?!

“So?” he says, figuring the only way to get himself out of this is by playing dumb.

Mandy shrugs bemusedly. “Just never heard you call him that before. You always call him some stupid nickname.”

Mickey makes an unintelligible noise in response, waving her off. “I’m too tired to come up with a nickname,” he mutters, hoping it’s a good enough excuse. Hoping he’s not fucking _blushing_.

“Whatever you say,” Mandy snorts.

She thankfully doesn’t push anymore beyond that and Mickey decides to make a quick exit, returning to the sanctuary of his own room. He closes the door and crashes face first into his bed, bruises on his face be damned. Burying his face in his pillow, he closes his eyes and wills himself to fall back to asleep.

Maybe he won’t be such a fucking mess when he wakes up.

* * *

Ian gets to work before Mickey does that afternoon and he sits nervously behind the counter, shuffling and reshuffling the pack of lighters by the register as he waits for him to show up. Last night had been a lot. Ian had thought for sure he was dreaming for half of it. But waking up and finding Mickey beside him solid and whole and radiating body heat had almost been enough to make him come undone.

And he’s not saying their breakfast this morning was a date but…he really wants to pretend it had been a date.

Especially since it seems like it’ll be their last one for a while.

But he gets it, he really does. He understands why Mickey wants to cool things off, why he’s trying to take a step back when the threat of his dad is an ever-looming presence looking over his shoulder. Hell, Ian only came out to his siblings this past year and that had been fucking terrifying even though he’d known deep down they’d probably accept him. (He still wonders if he even would have said anything at all if Lip hadn’t figured it out.)

So he knows why Mickey wants to stop – that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be easy though.

The bell jingles above the door and Ian’s head snaps up, heart quickening despite himself.

Mickey walks through the door and his eyes immediately find Ian’s. Ian offers him a tentative smile, greeting on his lips, until he realises Mandy is following Mickey in the door.

“Hey?” he says, stumbling over the word for a second. “What are you doing here?”

Mandy shrugs, coming to lean against the counter as Mickey stalks down one of the aisles – as if he’s ever fucking restocked a shelf in his life. “Didn’t feel like sticking around the house with my dad all day so I figured I’d come hang out with you two losers.”

The sympathetic response is already making its way up Ian’s throat until he remembers he’s not supposed to know anything. “What’s up with your dad?” he asks instead, hoping his voice sounds casual.

Mandy’s expression goes defensive for the briefest moment before she rolls her eyes. “He’s a pissy drunk. See that shiner Mickey’s sporting?” She nods down the aisle by way of explanation, just in time for Mickey to round the corner and Ian’s insides clench at the sight of him. God, his face looks even fucking worse now. Ian wishes he could kiss him again.

Ian winces, throwing Mickey a helpless look when he catches his eye. If Mandy sees anything suspicious in his expression she doesn’t question him. Instead she promptly redirects the conversation to something else, forcing Ian’s attention away from Mickey.

It still doesn’t stop him from being aware of where Mickey is in the store at all times.

Mandy hangs around for about an hour before she gets a text and suddenly announces she’s leaving. Ian would question her about it since the only people she ever hangs out with are in the store with her right now but his own selfish desires to be alone with Mickey win out so he lets her go. He’ll question her later.

Mickey reappears at the counter as soon as she leaves and right around now would be the time they usually sneak off to the backroom but Ian figures that’s probably not gonna happen again any time soon.

“Was your dad okay when you got home?” he asks instead, hoping if nothing else Mickey will still at least talk to him.

Mickey shrugs his shoulders half-heartedly, eyes on the display above the deli. “He was passed out in his room. I took a nap before he woke up and then came here.” He pauses for a moment and Ian thinks that’s all he’s going to get but then Mickey opens his mouth again. “It’s not like he’s gonna bring it up or anything. He probably barely even fucking noticed he did anything. This type of shit isn’t exactly irregular programming for him.”

And Ian knows but it’s one thing to know something like that implicitly and another thing to actually get verbal confirmation of what a piece of shit Terry is.

“Well, uh, the van’s always yours if you need it,” he offers awkwardly. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough.

Mickey’s face goes blank for a moment, expression oddly vulnerable as he looks at Ian, but then he shutters again. “Thanks,” he mutters before seeming to decide that’s as much of a conversation as he can take and traipsing down the freezer aisle.

Ian sighs, folding his arms down on the countertop and hanging his head.

It’s going to be a long fucking shift.

*

A week and a half passes without anything happening between them.

And Ian had figured it would be hard but he never thought it would be this agonising. Mickey is _right there_ but always just out of his reach. Being alone in the store together when they’re both consciously trying to avoid each other is torture – especially in the moments they both forget, where talking becomes laughing and laughing becomes leaning into each other and leaning into each other almost becomes more until they remember.

It’s worse because Ian knows Mickey never really wanted this to end – he could deal with it if that was the case – but this is just Mickey taking a preventative measure. Like he’s convinced it’ll be written all over his face if he lets Ian in.

Ian supposes it might be. Mickey’s never let him close enough to find out.

When it all finally comes to a head it’s an accident.

They purposely haven’t been making plans to meet up outside of work, both of them convinced the less time they spend together the less they’ll want it – like that’s fucking working out at all. Ian has decided to throw himself into prepping for ROTC with his new abundance of free time, hoping the exercise will keep his mind off Mickey.

He’s currently running the stairs on the bleachers at the dugouts and it’s too fucking hot but it’s not like he has anything else to do – especially with Mandy surprisingly awol too. He’s on his third set when he catches movement through the gaps in the bleacher seats. He freezes, huffing out a harsh breath as he crouches down to try and get a better look. He can’t see what it is but he can definitely see something.

Feeling a frown settle on his face, Ian heads down the steps until he reaches the field and slips behind the fence. The last thing he expects is to find Mickey there, one arm braced on his bent knee as he sits with his back against the fence. Face drawn and eyes closed.

“Mickey?” he asks confusedly, moving closer until he’s standing over him.

Mickey looks up at him, an odd look in his eye. He looks defeated but not in a bad way and Ian knows that makes no fucking sense but when does Mickey ever makes sense? “Hey, firecrotch,” he says and he’s not smiling but his voice makes him sound like he is.

“What’re you doing here?” Ian asks then, crouching down to sit opposite him. The tips of their shoes touch when Ian crosses his legs but he refuses to move away.

Mickey shrugs and he’s quiet for so long Ian thinks he won’t get a response but then, “Guess I missed ya.”

Ian’s breath pauses on its way into his lungs and he has to take a deliberate exhale before he can speak. “You did?”

Mickey shrugs again before raising his head to meet Ian’s gaze. And suddenly the defeated look makes sense. It’s not- this isn’t Mickey giving up. It’s him giving in. To his feelings, to whatever the fuck this is, Ian can see it in his eyes, can see the way Mickey’s silently begging him not to say it out loud.

“I missed you too,” he admits quietly. “Think I got used to you bein’ around.”

There’s the softest edge to Mickey’s mouth, an almost smile that Ian wants to coax open with a kiss. He thinks he could, if Mickey would let him get close enough.

They watch each other and Ian tries to gauge what Mickey’s feeling, tries to figure out what the fuck this means for them now. He knows asking is probably the wrong thing because Mickey doesn’t like talking about what they’re doing at the best of times but Ian’s never been good with action, never been brave enough for it.

Still, he scoots forward, enough that his knee touches Mickey’s, enough that he could reach out so easily if he wanted to.

He wants to.

Mickey watches him, eyes travelling from Ian’s hands in his lap to his mouth to his eyes. His expression is inscrutable but Ian forces himself to trust his gut and inches closer still. They’re in each other’s space now, too near not to be deliberate and Ian’s given him so many fucking chances to tell him to stop.

Mickey doesn’t say anything though, just sits there with his eyes on Ian, braced for something.

Taking a breath, Ian leans in until their lips are only a breath apart and pauses. “You’re not allowed to punch me for this,” he whispers. And then he’s closing the distance between them and slotting their mouths together.

All the breath seems to rush out of Mickey at once in the immediate moment their lips touch but then he’s kissing back, gentle and tentative and so unlike the Mickey Ian knows but it’s fucking electrifying. Ian trails a hand up, fingers splaying over Mickey’s neck before travelling into his hair and fuck, this is heaven.

Mickey’s hand hesitates in the air beside his head for a moment before blessedly finding its way to Ian’s neck until it curves around his jawline.

Ian breathes him in, feels reborn every time their lips brush against each other. He can’t help it when he deepens his kiss, feels the need to push even further when a soft sound escapes Mickey’s mouth.

Eventually, the burn in his lungs becomes too much and Ian has to pull back, not far, not out of reach of Mickey’s hand. But far enough away that they can meet each other’s gaze. Mickey stares at him, mouth parted and eyes glinting with a look Ian doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. But then he wets his lips, gaze falling to Ian’s mouth and mutters a quiet, “Guess I’m not gonna cut your tongue out after all,” before he’s dipping down again to capture Ian’s mouth in a searing kiss.

Ian is done for.

* * *

Mickey is fucked.

Mickey is one hundred percent, completely and utterly fucked. Because Ian kissed him and now Mickey never wants him to stop. And he fucking knew this would happen too. He’d known it from the start. Sure, a part of him had always just seen kissing as a prelude to sex but he’s not an idiot; he knows there’s something more…_intimate_ about kissing. Has always known that if he ever kissed Ian it’d be the final nail in the coffin. Fate sealed. Done.

He just doesn’t expect to love it this much.

Because Ian just keeps kissing him and kissing him, half in Mickey’s lap now as he cradles Mickey’s face. The fence is cutting diamonds in Mickey’s shoulders with how hard he’s pressed up against it but it barely registers in brain. Nothing registers beyond Ian’s hands and Ian’s mouth. His lips have to be fucking raw at this point but he can’t stop, can’t let Ian pull away for longer than a breath before he’s reeling him back in and this is fucking stupid.

It’s reckless and dangerous and absolutely going to be the end of him.

But Mickey just can’t find it in himself to care right now.

“Never fucking thought you’d let me do this,” Ian mumbles at some point, words half-lost to Mickey’s mouth, fingers twisting tightly in Mickey’s hair.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re an annoying little shit who can never let anything go then,” Mickey retorts but all the bite is lost in how breathless his voice sounds. He compensates by tugging on Ian’s lower lip with his teeth.

Ian stutters out a shaky breath, rolling his forehead against Mickey’s before grinding his hips down. And Mickey barely has enough presence of mind to kiss back never mind do anything else but he can’t help chasing the friction, can’t help the whine that escapes him before Ian swallows it down and fuck, he didn’t think things could feel _more_ intense between them than before. But this is a whole other dimension.

He lets Ian take control because he can barely keep up, brain short-circuiting with every drag of Ian’s lips against his. In the end, it’s rushed and sloppy because neither of them have the patience to do anything other rut against each other, hands creeping beneath one another’s waistbands when it becomes too much.

Ian leans against him when it’s over, temple pressed against Mickey’s forehead while he catches his breath. And normally Mickey would shove him away after a few seconds – not least of all because he’s got two fucking dead legs right now – but he doesn’t, just closes his eyes and waits for his breathing to regulate out again. He lets one hand trail lightly over Ian’s back, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth. Ian shifts then, turning his face in to graze his lips against the curve of Mickey’s jaw before climbing off him.

It’s then that the reality of the situation fully sets in for Mickey. Ian looks thoroughly wrecked where he sits next to him, clothes rumpled with his fly still half unzipped, his cheeks are a splotchy red, his lips are swollen and he’s staring at Mickey with wide, disbelieving eyes. Mickey can only imagine he looks the same and after a beat of just swapping stupid, fucking dumbfounded looks they both start laughing.

Mickey’s lungs burn but he can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him, half-thrilled, half-hysterical. “You look like you just blew fuckin’ backwards through a tornado.”

Ian laughs harder, shoving his arm. “Like you can fucking talk! You should see your face right now.”

And that sobers Mickey up. He stops laughing, though he knows a smile is still settled at the corners of his mouth as he regards Ian. Ian quiets too then, gaze lingering on Mickey for only a moment before he casts his eyes to the ground. “You gonna pretend this didn’t happen in the morning?”

Mickey tries not to flinch but he guesses he deserves that. He’s always been the one putting the brakes on, the one who insisted on no kissing in the first place. He wants to say something, to reassure Ian because he knows he needs to hear it. But he’s fucking awful with words so he does the only thing he can think of. He leans forward and presses a light kiss to Ian’s mouth.

Ian’s got a dazed kind of smile on his face when he pulls back and it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from having a fucking heart attack. “Just don’t make a big fucking deal out of it,” he grumbles, sounding more defensive than annoyed.

Ian must be able to hear it too because his smile widens and he twists his fingers in Mickey’s tank top to tug him in. It’s not a long kiss because they’re both fucking wiped but it still sets Mickey’s veins thrumming.

“I should probably get home,” Ian says reluctantly when he pulls back. “I left hours ago.”

Mickey just about manages to keep the grimace off his face. Once they leave here the bubble’s going to burst and who the fuck knows how different things will be then? How he’ll freak out about it. Or worse, how badly he’ll want to do it again. “Yeah, I told Mandy I’d pick up dinner,” he says when he finds his voice.

Ian pushes himself to stand up before holding a hand out to Mickey to haul him up. Mickey only lets him because his legs still feel a little unsteady. They both take a second to fix their clothes and their hair and once they’ve successfully acted as one another’s mirrors they make their way across the field.

There’s a healthy distance between them on their walk home but if their arms bump every so often he figures no random passer-by is gonna notice.

As they slow to a stop at their usual spot Mickey starts to feel panic build in his chest. He knows Ian won’t try anything, knows Ian’s not stupid enough to even attempt to kiss him in broad daylight but the irrational part of his brain still zooms into overdrive. It must be obvious on his face what he’s thinking because Ian just offers him an exasperated raise of his eyebrows before punching Mickey’s arm.

“See you at work tomorrow?”

Mickey bites the inside of a cheek to keep a smile from blossoming on his face and nods. “Later, tough guy.”

Ian beams at him before disappearing down the street. When he’s out of sight Mickey continues his walk and he’s pretty fucking sure the fluttering in his stomach has nothing to do with what he ate for lunch.

He’s so screwed.

*

Mandy is the only one home when Mickey gets back to the house with Chinese food in tow. He’s relieved; he’s pretty sure he looks more or less back to normal by now but he doesn’t want to risk any questioning from his brothers. Imagining running into Terry right now is fucking unthinkable.

“Finally,” Mandy huffs, sitting up from where she’d been sprawled across the couch watching TV. “You fall into a bush on your way home or something?” She takes the bag from him, lifting the containers out one by one to set them on the coffee table.

“Take-out place was busy,” he says distractedly, sitting down on the empty spot on the couch and reaching for his carton of szechuan chicken.

Mandy gives him a sceptical look, looking far too menacing with the chopsticks poised between her fingers. “Why’s your hair all messed up then?”

“What? No, it’s not.” Immediately he lifts a hand to run through his hair, glaring when she smirks at him.

“Fine. You gonna give me an explanation for the sex drunk look on your face when you walked through the front door then?”

“Wh- I’m not fucking talking about this shit with you,” he exclaims, hoping his voice sounds more disgusted than panicked. “You’re my baby sister.”

“I’m a year younger than you,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll tell you about my secret hook-up if you tell me about yours,” she offers as she breaks a spring roll in half.

It surprises him because he didn’t know she was seeing anyone but he’s still not fucking falling for that trap. “I don’t wanna know who you’re banging, Mandy,” he says resignedly, throwing in an eyeroll of his own for good measure.

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll just call Ian later and talk to him. I think he’s seeing someone too, y’know?”

Mickey freezes, food halfway to his mouth. “Why do you say that?” he asks too slowly.

Mandy narrows her eyes at him. “Did he tell you something?”

“No!” Mickey denies, realising a beat too late that he probably shouldn’t sound so vehement. “Why do you think he’s seeing someone?” he asks again, aiming for casual and not sure if he succeeds.

Mandy chews her lip, seemingly debating whether or not to tell him. But she mustn’t be able to hold it in because she takes a deep breath and launches into her story a second later. “So I’ve been fucking Lip Gallagher.”

Mickey chokes on his chicken, coughing and spluttering as he reaches for Mandy’s half-empty beer to attempt to wash it down. “Jesus christ, Mandy,” he chokes out finally, voice raw. The _last _thing he wants to imagine is Lip Gallagher in any kind of sexual situation. Christ.

“It’s important to the story!” Mandy insists, though the vindictive look in her eyes suggests it really fucking isn’t. “Lip snuck me into his room the night dad hit you and he was worried we’d get found out because Ian wasn’t home yet but then Ian didn’t come home at all until the next morning.”

Mickey holds perfectly still, forcing himself to keep chewing so his expression doesn’t give anything away.

“And I guess that might not be weird but I’ve literally been upstairs with Lip when I’ve heard Ian telling Fiona he’s meeting me.”

And that’s…well, shit. Looks like neither of them factored in that Mandy might not be a reliable scapegoat. This makes things so much more fucking complicated.

“Are you sure he hasn’t said anything to you?” she presses.

“Me and Ian don’t exactly chitchat about whatever fuckin’ fairies he decides to bang,” Mickey snarks, stuffing another heaping of rice into his mouth to hide the fact he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“You called him Ian again,” Mandy singsongs. “If I didn’t know any better I’d almost think you’re trying to steal my best friend.”

Mickey snorts, shaking his head. “You can keep him.”

Mandy hums thoughtfully before taking another bite of her food and thankfully changing the subject.

It doesn’t manage to derail Mickey’s thoughts though. He needs to call Ian and tell him their alibi is fucked.

* * *

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian hisses down the phone, shooting a glance in the direction of the bunk beds to make sure Carl is still asleep.

“S’what she told me,” Mickey tells him on the other end of the line. “You need to come up with a better lie, man. Start telling your family you’re doing ROTC shit or something.”

“I can’t believe Mandy’s sleeping with my brother,” Ian mutters, barely even registering the second half of Mickey’s response.

Mickey snorts. “Kinda the pot calling the kettle black here, Gallagher, don’t’cha think?”

Ian huffs a laugh, rolling onto his back. “I’m not mad; I just wish she’d told me,” he says before his face scrunches up in disgust as the mental image enters his head again. “Why the fuck would she want to sleep with _Lip?”_

“Again, pot. Kettle,” Mickey scoffs. “She’d ask you the same fuckin’ question if she knew about us.”

Ian considers that, how much easier everything would be if Mandy knew. “You ever think about telling her?”

“Can you please let me come to terms with one of your bullshit requests at a time?” Mickey sighs and Ian figures he’s probably pushed enough for one day.

“My last bullshit request is working out pretty good for you though, don’t you think?”

He hears the soft exhale of Mickey’s laugh and then, “You’re a fucking dick.”

“You like me anyway,” Ian says because apparently he’s _not_ done pushing.

Mickey doesn’t agree but he doesn’t refute him either. Instead he just says, “Alright man, I need to crash. Just wanted to give you the head’s up.”

“Okay,” he whispers, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “Night.”

“Night.”

*

Ian can hardly contain himself when he gets into work the next morning. Mickey’s already there when he arrives, pointedly ignoring Linda where she sits behind the counter. She greets Ian with nothing more than a, “The soda needs to be restocked,” and then she’s coming out from behind the counter and disappearing upstairs.

Ian watches her go, letting his eyes travel to Mickey when she’s out of sight. Mickey’s already watching him, a particular kind of light in his eyes that Ian’s not sure he’s ever seen before.

An anticipatory kind of silence hangs in the air between them. Ian only finally breaks it when the tension gets to be too much. “Help me grab the cases of Gatorade from out back?”

Mickey raises his eyebrows but follows him dutifully around the corner towards the stockroom. As soon as Ian is sure they’re out of view of the main floor he pushes Mickey up against the wall, crowding close. “Hey,” he murmurs, gaze flicking from Mickey’s eyes to his mouth before he noses at the line of Mickey’s jaw.

Mickey lets out a breath, fingers curling around the base of Ian’s neck to raise his head. “Quit being such a fuckin’ tease.”

Ian considers goading him a little bit more but that would seriously be stretching his own non-existent self-control so he gives into Mickey’s unspoken request, brushing their lips together in a gentle kiss before licking into Mickey’s mouth.

Mickey sighs against him, free hand twisting in the front of his t-shirt, and Ian feels a thrill of exhilaration run up his spine. He still can’t fucking believe he gets to do this now. It doesn’t feel real.

He pulls away before he allows himself to get carried away though, reminding himself someone could walk in at any moment. He kisses Mickey once more because he can’t help himself – hard and quick – and then he’s pulling away for real. “Seriously. I’m making you help me with the soda.”

He forces himself to step away and turn around as he says it. As he’s picking up one of the crates he hears Mickey finally move behind him. “You’re not making me do anything, Gallagher.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He’s not. Mickey’s kissing him – is letting Ian kiss him – because he wants to. He wants this, Ian is sure of it now. He never would’ve let it get this far if he didn’t. He wants Ian.

It’s more of a revelation than Ian expects to be dealing with at 12pm on a Wednesday afternoon in the Kash and Grab but still.

It feels like progress.

*

Ian can’t stop kissing Mickey.

Everywhere. Anywhere. Wherever he can reach. Whenever he’s allowed.

He loses count over the next week of the amount of times he crowds Mickey into a corner somewhere out of sight, drawing him open with kiss after kiss until they’re both breathless and lightheaded from it. It’s the breaking down of another barrier and he knows it. Because there’s a sort of shift between them now. This thing has been ever-changing all summer, leaving Ian on an uneven footing stuck between defiant bravery and terrified tentativeness.

But now, he notices the way Mickey lets himself _linger_. Ian catches him staring and Mickey doesn’t immediately look away or turn it into something more, he just keeps looking. (Sometimes he even smiles.) Mickey touches him now and not just when they’re fucking. Sure when they are Mickey lets his hands roam all over – from Ian’s hair to his neck to his shoulders to his hips to lower. But when they’re not, when they’re on the roof of the building complex or in the dugouts just talking and smoking Mickey will sometimes reach out. He always has some bullshit excuse like fixing the collar of Ian’s t-shirt but then his hand just…stays there. Or brushes over his arm. Or urges him to move a little closer.

Couple that with the kisses, with the way Mickey melts into him every single time, Ian can’t help but think…

Well, he can’t help but think that maybe they’ve become more.

He doesn’t question it out loud because nothing makes Mickey withdraw quicker than talking but silently, in his head, he’s started referring to them as a couple.

Mickey can think whatever he wants but no fuck buddies on the planet do the type of shit they do. But couples do. Ian may not have the best examples of a healthy relationship in his life but he knows he and Mickey are good. What they have his good.

They’re on the roof, trading back and forth a cigarette as they watch the fading sun when Ian suddenly remembers there’s only two weeks left of summer vacation.

“Are you gonna come back to school?” he asks on an exhale, holding the cigarette out to Mickey.

Mickey scoffs, fingers brushing Ian’s as he picks up the cigarette to take a drag. “What the fuck for? I was failing before I went in the joint and now I missed a bunch of classes. Be a waste of time, man.”

Ian mulls that over, doesn’t know how to encourage Mickey not to give up on himself without sounding like he’s nagging. So he tries a different tactic. “You realise when I go back to school there’s gonna be like, at least seven hours a day where we can’t sneak off together?”

Mickey goes still beside him and Ian can tell he _hadn’t_ realised this. He snatches the cigarette back off Mickey while he waits for a response, smirking around it when he watches Mickey suddenly pull himself together.

“You tryna say I can’t survive without you, Gallagher?” he asks, voice full of bravado. “You kiddin’ me? I’ll be happy with the peace and quiet.”

“Uh huh,” Ian replies disbelievingly.

“Not having to hear your whiny voice all day is gonna be like my own personal vacation,” he says, all bluster and Ian would know he’s bullshitting even if he wasn’t avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sure all those shifts with Linda at the Kash and Grab will keep you busy,” Ian says then, just to annoy him. Mickey’s eyes go vaguely panicked before he casts Ian a sidelong glance and shoves him.

“You’re just sayin’ all this shit because you’re gonna miss me; I’ve got your agenda, tough guy.”

Ian lets out an exasperated huff, flicking the cigarette away and tackling Mickey. He rolls him onto his back, keeping a hand at the back of Mickey’s head to cushion it against the concrete and leans up over him. Mickey’s got the same glint in his eye he does every time Ian manhandles him a little – that’s another thing he’s figured out Mickey likes this summer.

“Wouldn’t have to miss you if you just went to school,” he points out, dipping down until their noses are just shy of brushing. “Think of all the new hiding spots we could find,” he whispers, using his thumb on Mickey’s chin to coax his mouth open and draw him into a kiss.

“I know what you’re doing,” Mickey says after a moment too long of letting himself get lost in the kiss but his voice has gone far too airy to sound threatening.

“Hmm?” Ian hums, drifting lower to smudge a kiss over Mickey’s pulse point. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sucks on the spot at the base of Mickey’s neck, not hard enough to leave a mark – just enough to make his point.

Mickey lets out a soft, “Fuck,” as his hand curls in Ian’s hair. It’s getting long enough now that he can just about grip onto it again.

Ian continues his ministrations, kissing every piece of exposed skin he can reach until Mickey lets out a defeated sigh.

“If I say I’ll go back will you stop fucking teasing and _do_ something?”

Ian’s leans up on his elbows to meet Mickey’s eyes. When Mickey only stares back at him expectantly Ian bursts into a beaming grin, leaning down again until their mouths are just shy of touching. “Tell me what you want.”

Mickey eyes him for a moment before he hooks one of his legs around Ian’s and pulls him down until they’re plastered together from chest to thigh. “Fuckin’ kiss me like you mean it.”

Ian is only too happy to comply.

* * *

Mickey feels surprisingly calm.

It’s been almost two weeks since he let Ian first kiss him and the freak out he expected to follow it is oddly absent. It might be because his dad has been out of town a lot on bigger deals so he’s not the ever-present threat he usually is but he doesn’t think that’s it. Because Terry or not, Mickey is more surprised about his _own_ lack of panic. He’s not- coming out or any kind of shit like that is nowhere near being on the table – he can’t even imagine a world where it would be – but he thinks he’s comfortable with where he and Ian are now.

More specifically, he’s comfortable with _Ian_ now.

It doesn’t scare him to give Ian back some of the affection he so obviously, desperately wants. It’s not hard to admit he has feelings for Ian – in his head, saying it out loud is still too much. It’s…it’s a level of comfort and sureness he never expected to have. He’s still fucking terrified half the time: of his dad, of the world, of the way Ian makes his heart race. But in the moments they’re together, where it’s just them with no one else around Mickey gives himself over. He lets his guard slip just enough to let Ian slide in close.

It’s surprisingly easier than he expects.

They’re under the bleachers tonight, back in hoodies as the beginnings of an autumn breeze slowly makes itself known – just another reminder that whatever hazy bubble they’ve been living in this summer is about to burst. They’re sitting against one of the support beams, legs overlapping just enough to be deliberate and Mickey finds himself leaning into Ian’s warmth without realising it.

Conversation flows between them, easy and undemanding, and Mickey feels so totally at peace he thinks he could stay like this forever.

“Fuck, I’m so not ready for it to start getting cold again,” Ian says after they’ve been quiet for a few minutes. “This summer felt too fuckin’ good to be true.”

Mickey knows the feeling.

“Suppose we can’t really sneak out here once winter comes, huh?” he says. They never needed to before Mickey went to juvie, used to mostly content themselves with stolen moments in the Kash and Grab storeroom every couple of days and tell themselves it was enough. This insatiable need to be around each other all day every day only started in June. Mickey doesn’t know if he can live without it now.

“Guess we’re gonna have to find somewhere else,” Ian agrees before adding, “Preferably with a bed.”

Mickey laughs and sees his breath in the air. “Think we’re gonna be waiting a while for that one, man.”

And it’s the oddest thought but Mickey thinks it – thinks about some indeterminable time in the future where they could actually fuck in a bed or spend time in one another’s rooms. It sounds unbelievable but there’s a voice in the deepest corner of his mind whispering that it’s not impossible.

“Yeah, probably,” Ian allows. “Been nice while it’s lasted though, huh?”

“Mm,” Mickey hums, feeling an unsettling kind of tightness in his chest at Ian’s words. He turns until they’re face to face, still pressed in close to Ian’s chest and raises his eyebrows. “Summer’s not over yet, firecrotch.”

Ian squints at him, breaking into a grin as he catches Mickey’s drift. His arm twists around Mickey’s waist and he squeezes Mickey’s hip under his hoodie. “What’d you have in mind?”

Mickey smirks, lets one hand slide up to cover Ian’s jaw. “C’mere.”

They move in at the same time, mouths meeting in the middle in an eager kiss. Ian hauls him in and Mickey doesn’t think about it before he’s swinging a leg over Ian’s lap and settling on his thighs. They’ve never tried this position before, Mickey always thinking he’d feel too vulnerable or exposed but right now he doesn’t care, feels nothing but secure in Ian’s arms.

Ian’s hands scrabble under his t-shirt and hoodie, fingers raking down Mickey’s back as he attempts to drive his hips up. “Mick,” he mumbles, half-plea, half-groan and fucking fuck, this is too much for Mickey.

Mickey’s heart is fucking pounding in his chest but he doesn’t want to change position. Can’t, not when it gives Ian’s mouth perfect access to his throat. So he ignores the way his fingers are trembling and reaches to undo his jeans and then Ian’s. “Ian,” he breathes.

And it must mean enough because Ian suddenly stops, staring up at Mickey with a question in his eyes. Mickey just stares back and silently begs him to get it. Ian does after a moment because he always does and he presses his forehead hard against Mickey’s, sure and grounding, before kissing him softly. He reaches for the lube then, thrown haphazardly on top of his backpack, and after one last wondering look he slips his hands inside Mickey’s jeans.

Mickey releases a shuddering breath and kisses him like his life fucking depends on it.

He thinks it might.

*

It’s the day before school starts and they’re back up on the roof of the abandoned building. They’ve been up here for hours, eating, smoking, fucking, talking, just being together one final time without any kind of time restraints.

It’s the end of something but it’s not.

Still, Mickey’s going to hoard up every single second he can get.

“S’a nice day,” he says at some point, feeling drunk from the heat and Ian.

Ian hums in agreement and Mickey feels him shift beside him. Their movements have been slow and heavy all afternoon, like they can will time to slow down if they don’t move too quickly. He can feel the heat radiating from Ian’s body beside him and his mind drifts to what it would feel like to have Ian wrapped around him. Not when they’re having sex but just because. In a bed. Right before they fall asleep. The fact that it sounds more appealing than worrying should bother him. But on a day like today he doesn’t care.

“Thanks,” Ian murmurs then, quiet and unexpected, and Mickey rolls his head to the side to look at him.

“For what?”

Ian shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “All of it.”

Mickey’s chest caves in on itself as he takes a breath. He knows what Ian means, knows he’s given more of himself to Ian in the past two and a half months than he’s ever given anyone. He doesn’t think he can offer anything else – doesn’t think he has anything left – but then again, he’d thought the same thing behind bulletproof glass with only a shitty phone connecting them.

Now…he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. How much more he can push himself before he inevitably has a breakdown. This can’t last forever and he knows it. But he’s decided he wants to hang on as long as he can, wants to be with Ian as long as it makes sense.

As if Ian’s not the only thing that’s ever fuckin’ made any sense.

He doesn’t know what to say back – never knows what to say back – so he just nods, voice stuck somewhere in his throat.

After a moment’s hesitation he reaches out until his hand bumps Ian’s. Carefully, he twists his fingers around Ian’s until they thread together. Ian’s watching him, expression caught, and Mickey silently wills him not to ask for anymore. To just squeeze his hand and let Mickey get away with this. Just this once.

Ian’s eyes are clear as a smile forms on his face that Mickey doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. As if reading his thoughts, he squeezes Mickey’s hand.

And he lets Mickey get away with it.

*

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!! I know everything isn't resolved by the end of this but, while i diverged from canon, I still wanted to generally keep it the same in terms of where they were with their relationship/mickey coming out, y'know?
> 
> And finally, if you're looking for me, you can find me at [littlespooneven](http://littlespooneven.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! <3


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